


Welcome to the Real World

by Teh_FemaleMoriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Depression, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Homophobia, Jim and Seb are parents too, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Oh and Mycroft and Greg are also parents, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent!lock, Self-Harm, Sherlock and John are parents, Smoking, University, Violence, don't judge me please, everyone is ooc, except the OCs, i haven't watched all of S3 so it won't be mentioned in this fic, their kid is also kinda dickish, their kid is nice but insecure the poor baby, their kids are kinda dicks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teh_FemaleMoriarty/pseuds/Teh_FemaleMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock Watson-Holmes are happily married, with two wonderful sons, one of which is reluctantly going to university. Hamish doesn't want to, but for the sake of conquering the ominous 'It' he battles and the sake of his family, he will go.</p>
<p>Little does anyone know that common law husbands James and Sebastian Moran's daughter, Charline, has her own demons to fight while attending the same university as Hamish.</p>
<p>And just in the background -always just in the background- Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade's son, Anthony Holmes, is trying to survive his second year at university and battle his insecurities as a closeted gay in a dorm floor known for its homophobia.</p>
<p>These are their adventures and tales as they traverse the often treacherous place that is University and real-life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I am not beta'd, this is not brit-picked, this is something I found in the crevices of my laptop and decided to continue. Please enjoy! There will be another abandoned-then-found-again fic coming soon.

"Don't worry, darling, Uni's fun! I mean, accept all the boring and ordinary people. And the awful and dull classes. And the dull and boring teachers. But lunch and bending the minds of all your little classmates are fun!" Charline rolled her eyes at her father's bubbly attitude. "Fun for you maybe. You're a mass murderer and a genius, Da, you probably had an army in Uni before you left! I, I'm of average intelligence and I don't have much of a pull," she admitted, eating her cereal and inhaling deeply. "But you do have a mean sense of danger and a nasty left," her other father commented, eating his own cereal as he perused the morning newspaper. "And what good is that going to do me? I don't have Da's mind or cunning, and I'm not looking to fight my way through university, Baba!"

  
Her Da sighed and finished his tea, nudging her with his shoulder. "You have my intelligence, Charline, and your Baba's physical prowess. You also have our good looks, but that's beside the point." Charlie looked more like Seb, in all honesty, with her copper hair and masses of freckles with electric blue eyes to match. She had Jim's small stature and sharp tongue, however, and that was all the ex-crimelord could ask for. Even if she had the sharp features and edges of her mother.

  
"You need your own confidence, and that's the whole point of university. That's why you're not going to get out of this and why you're going to Uni next week!" The angst-filled nineteen-year-old groaned. "That's not fair!" Her Baba flicked his paper and cleared his throat, his way of telling her not to complain. "Arseholes, both of you!" she huffed, finishing her cereal and marching up to her room to finish preparing for the hell she'd have to go through come next Monday.

  
"Oh, don't pout, Charlie!" her Da called after her, following her up the stairs to her room. "And why the hell not? I don't want to go! Baba didn't go to university, so why do I have to?" she countered, plopping down in her desk chair. "Because...because as good and honest and amazing as he is, Seb sometimes has a hard time fitting in. He never had the Uni experience. He went right off into the military and never really made any friends. He's...he has a hard time connecting to people. And neither of us want that for you."  
"And what about you? You went to university, and then dropped out." Her father rolled his eyes. "I'm a sociopath and a psychopath, love, I don't count. I don't like people so I left. But you! You can make friends! You can succeed where he and I didn't. Yeah? So please. Just...all I'm asking for you to do is to try. Okay? Just try." Charlie nodded and sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll try. For you and Baba, I'll try."

  
The other smiled and kissed his daughter's head. "Thank you, Charline. Bless you. Now I'll let you get finished packing. I love you, you know?" Charline smiled and bowed her head. "I love you, too, Da."

  
"Fancy that, darling," Sebastian said, finishing his coffee and folding his newspaper. He smiled at his partner as the smaller man folded himself into the couch in the living room. "Fancy what, Tiger?" he asked as he held his hand out for the other to join him. "You, a sociopath, mass murderer, and former syndicate overlord, being a domestic ball of fluff and excellent father underneath all of it," Seb said, pulling the other into his lap and holding him. "Oh, don't insult me, Sebby; I'm not a ball of fluff!" Sebastian smiled and kissed his partner's shoulder. "Yes you are. And we both love you for it, James."

  
James hummed and leaned back against his Tiger. "Do you think she should go to Uni, Seb?" The ex-sniper nodded. "Yeah, I do. She's going to be lonely and bitter if she's cooped up in here for much longer. She can't spend her whole life with us. You know this, James. She's got to be her own person." James sighed. "I know. I just...it seems like only yesterday, you know? Only yesterday, she was just a pink and perfect little girl. Now, though! Now she's a woman. And going off to university, which is full of stupid, boring, ordinary people. I just don't want to get a phone call that Charlie's murdered someone for an experiment or something."

  
Sebastian laughed. "That sounds more like something the Holmes's kid would do. Jesus, are they even around anymore?" James shrugged. "I dunno. They got all domestic and boring so I left them alone. They think I'm dead, anyway, so it doesn't matter, does it?" Seb raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure it doesn't. Unless the two of them and their kids are still living in London and sending their oldest to the same university we're sending our kid. Then, I think, it'd matter." James rolled his eyes and stood up, going to make tea again. "Always the ray of sunshine, aren't you Tiger?" Seb leaned further back onto the sofa. "That's your job, isn't it?"

  
"Ha ha, very funny. Bugger off." Sebastian sighed and smiled as he folded his hands behind his head. "Could you fix me another cup of coffee, love?" The looks James gave his partner was murderous. "You are the worst Englishman ever, Sebby. Ever since India, you've done nothing but drink coffee and let Charlie call you 'Baba'. Honestly, I haven't seen you drink tea in ten years!"

  
"Then fix me a cup of tea if it bothers you so much, James," he offered with a shrug. "You're awful. And the only person who calls me 'James'. Not once have you ever called me 'Jim' or 'Jimmy'. Not once!" Seb frowned a fraction. "I called you 'Jim' when you came back. Granted, I was livid and had a gun to your head, but I called you 'Jim'." James sighed. "That doesn't count and you know it. Though I shouldn't complain. Here, make yourself your awful coffee. And then come to bed."

  
"We just got up!" the other exclaimed. "And it's Sunday. Not all of us run on a military clock, Tiger," James said, swaying off to their room.

 

  
"Shite," Charline muttered as she went back upstairs. She did not need to deal with a Holmes kid. Not after what their fathers did to hers. Her chest tightened as she entered her room and she inhaled as deeply as she could. She could do this. She was okay. All was fine. Unopened for six months, she could do this. She let her breath go again once she relaxed. She just hoped she didn't run into whomever the Holmes' (or Watsons, or Holmes-Watsons, or Watson-Holmes') produced.

  
# # # # # # # # #

 

"Why are we up this early on a Sunday, again?" Will asked with a huff as he rubbed his eyes and tried to watch the telly. "Because," his father rumbled. "Papa insisted that we be up, too, if your brother is going to pack for Uni. Honestly, though, I don't know why Hamish is even going to stay at the university, it'd be cheaper and more convenient if he stayed here anyway."

  
"That's so he can have the full Uni experience," John said as he walked into the kitchen, kissing the side of Sherlock's head. The detective huffed and smiled slightly but didn't look up from his microscope. "It'll be good for you, Hamish. Fresh air, big campus, you'll have a dormmate and make lots of friends!" John insisted as he sat across from his son.

  
Hamish had his father's good looks, dark hair, and sharp features though would be forever cursed with a Watson-sized temper and pride. Will, however, had the soft and light features of John and his sense of decency, but the patience and sociability of Sherlock. Both had the detective's height, wit, and sense of loathing the world when it came to being bored, and both had their mother's small lips that smiled the exact same way, though that was the only trait they inherited from Molly. "I know this will be good for me," Hamish said. "I just don't see the need to leave home for it. I can't stand sharing a room with Will," -the younger Watson-Holmes scowled at his brother- "Let alone with a total stranger. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly the most sociable."

  
John smiled and patted his arm. "You'll be fine. You had lots of friends in college, you'll have lots of friends now," he assured, setting a cup of tea in front Hamish. "And as for sharing a space with a stranger," Sherlock added as he scribbled something down in his notebook beside his microscope. "I'm sure your uncle will room you with your cousin, Anthony." Hamish grimaced. "I don't..." He sighed. "I guess. I should finish packing before Monday," he said, taking his mug of tea with him as he left to his room. Will frowned and followed him. "What's wrong?" he asked as he flopped onto his own bed. Hamish shook his head and continued packing. "Nothing, Will."

  
"Bullshit. Just talk to me, won't you? Jesus, you're going to leave in two days and I'll have no one but bloody Gladstone to bother with my problems." Hamish smiled and sighed, sitting on his own bed. "I don't want to go. I'm scared, I'm...I have issues. You know this. I just don't want to go. I'm only doing this to placate Father and Papa." William nodded sagely and sat by his brother. "You have to do this, you know. Not just for Dads, but for yourself, too. If you give up now, or at any time, it'll be easier to give up the next time, and the next, and soon enough you'll let It win. You can't. If not for you, then for me. Becuase Cousin Agnes isn't going to be much fun when she's older," he joked, nudging his older brother. "And next year I'll join you. So chin up and keep going."

  
Hamish nodded and smiled at him. "I'm just hoping I won't get into a fight my first day." Will laughed. "If you do, let me know. I need a good laugh every now and then."  
"He doesn't want to go, John," Sherlock said as he scrawled the last note he had into the notebook and shut it. "I know Sherlock, but he needs to. He needs to overcome whatever he has." Both men knew what Hamish had, but neither knew why, and neither would say it. Saying it would make it real. "Maybe he can go in a year or two. After we overcome this," the consulting detective offered. He may not feel like the commonwealth did, but his love and concern for his sons was unparalleled by anyone, with John as the constant exception. "No. No, we can't and you know it, Sherlock. He's got to do this himself, for himself. Because then it'll have no meaning and he'll relapse. And he can't do that." John took Will's spot on the sofa and changed the channel to the news. "All we can do is make sure we're there for him and send him someplace he can be himself without having to impress anyone."

  
"I'm hoping he doesn't. Everyone else is dull," Sherlock sighed as he sat beside his husband and set his head in John's lap. "Just because you didn't like university doesn't mean Hamish won't." Sherlock snorted. "He's going to room with Anthony, I'm not so sure he'll like anything about Uni. And..."  
"And what, Sherlock?"

  
"And Mycroft has informed me that a young woman by the name of Charline Moran is going to be attending the same university as Hamish. And yes, I think she's Moran's daughter. She looks exactly like he does. And like Moriarty." John hummed and ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls. "That's fine," he said after a while. "What?!"

  
"I said that's fine. It is. There's no reason for him to come after us anymore; you destroyed his web, you've given him no reason for his attention to be on us. And I don't think he'd use his own daughter to attack us. Or Hamish. He'll be fine." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smiled at his husband. "What is it Sherlock?"

  
"Since when could you be so observant?" he asked. John laughed and stroked Sherlock's temple with his thumb. "Since I married you. And since Hamish could tell me what was in his presents before he opened them. I still don't forgive you for teaching them how to do that." The detective pouted. "They'd have figured it out, even if I didn't show them the right direction." John smiled and kissed his forehead. "Yes, yes, our sons are genii. Very well."

  
"Can we go to sleep now? It's too early and Hamish can pack his own things. Like you have so eloquently put it, Watson, he is a genius."

  
"Since when did you want to sleep?" John said as he nudged his husband off his lap to go to their room. "Since I married you," the taller man retorted lightly as he wandered towards the room.

  
"Did you hear that?" Will asked as he sat back on his heels. Hamish nodded. "Yeah. Shit, I'm hoping not to run into this girl. Not with how full my plate is already. Hand me my folder?"

  
"Yeah, here. If you do see this girl, will you tell me if she's cute or not?" Hamish gave his brother a look. "Yeah, Will. Right after whether or not she wants to kill you." William giggled obscenely and chucked a book in the other's direction. "Girls who want to kill you are the hotest, don't you know?" Hamish shook his head. "You are too American for your own good, Will," he tsked, silently hoping he'd have nothing to report back to Will about the daughter of his fathers' enemies.


	2. History Tends to Repeat Itself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is darker and a sadder than the first chapter, and we see more into Anthony's situation and feelings as well as some more revealing of the past between Hamish and Charlie. TWs for dysphoria, self-harm (both implicit and explicit), and feels. For me, anyway. So enjoy!

“Hamish? That you?” The boy mentioned smiled at his cousin and shifted his weight onto his other foot nervously. “Hi, Anthony. How are you?” Anthony grinned broadly and ushered him in. “I’m fine, fine. How are you? It’s been too long, Cousin!” Hamish rolled his eyes and smiled. “Same, I guess. I’m grateful that I don’t have to be around idiots the entire time I’m here.” The two boys stood awkwardly in the middle of the dorm room. It’d been nearly eight years since they had last seen each other, what with Mycroft and Greg’s divorce. “How’s your sister? She’s...what, six years old now?” Anthony smiled, his eyes far off. “Seven, actually. Just turned seven last month. How’s Will?”

 

“Still a massive prat,” Hamish laughed as he set his bags down by what he deduced was his bunk. Anthony laughed as well. “Good, good. Well! What’s mine is yours and all that. I’m off to my classes. See you for dinner?’ Hamish nodded absently and unpacked. “Hey, Tony?”

 

“It’s Anthony. Please?”

 

Hamish remembered how his uncle Greg used to call his cousin ‘Tony’. He must still be sore from the split. “All right. Erm...do you know if a girl named Charline Moran goes here?” Anthony paused in putting his coat on. “Uh, yeah. She came here about a week ago, got into a huge fight with Clarissa Parks because Parks was making life hell for Ramus Samuel. I think Samuel is in your class for English, and so is Moran. Why?”

 

Hamish pinched his finger in the zipper of his bag in response. “Shit! Oh, that hurt. No reason, Anthony. Nothing. Ta, see you for dinner.”

 

Well that was swell, just great. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, and he really didn’t feel like going to class today. He heard Will’s words in his head then. “If you give up now, or at any time, it'll be easier to give up the next time, and the next, and soon enough you'll let It win. You can't. If not for you, then for me.” Sighing, Hamish packed his book bag and prepared himself for Maths. Fuck this…

 

English was entirely too boring for the young man’s liking. He was already fine at English and estimated that he could skip most of his classes and just come in for exam days. And so far, he hadn’t seen Charline Moran in his class. He’d come in and sat down in the very back of the class to be sure that no one fitting the description of Colonel Moran, Jim Moriarty, or his aunt Irene had come in. So far, there was no one he could see.

 

He did spot Ramus Samuel, however, and a girl with red hair sit next to him. The redhead had caught his attention, but hadn’t shown any other feature of Moran, Moriarty, or Adler. He jotted down some lyrics to songs in his notebook in lieu of listening to the professor drone on or looking for the spawn of the evil men. He could feel It tugging him out of the class, but refused to answer to Its call. He wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t. But he could go for a cigarette once class was over.

 

# # # # # # # # #

 

Ever since she’d helped Ramus, Charlie had stuck around with him to make sure that Parks wouldn’t attack him once his back was turned. In return, Ramus had become somewhat of a friend to the anxious girl. He was a poet, an artist, an avid fan of Frank Sinatra and Panic at the Disco, and was more than happy to have the daughter of an ex-sniper as a friend. Well, to have a friend in general. He was more or less a sociopathic sadist, which was the most likely cause of Park’s torture. So to have someone on his side was grand. And Charlie had always been able to spot danger and make the most of it.

 

“This blows,” the American said, tapping his pencil on his notebook. Charlie was inclined to agree; English was boring and turning her brain to mush. Or maybe it was just the professor, who was droning on and on about basic things that should have been taught in primary. “Hey, do you see the kid all the way at the back of the room?” Ramus asked, using a mirror to show his friend the reflection. “Yeah, what?”

 

‘He’s the kid I was telling you about. The one who could read people like an open book and tell them their life’s story from a cursory glance.” Charlie shrugged and made careful lines on the paper of her notebook. “Whatever. It’s a parlour trick. I’ve seen plenty of people do it. I can do it if I’m in the mood.”

 

“Do it, then, Miss Smarty Pants!” Ramus challenged, causing the redhead to smile at his American accent. “I’m not in the mood,” she retorted. He was smart with a dry sense of humour and smelled like cigarettes. And had a look of perpetual annoyment on his face. “Ha ha. Prick. And this isn’t a parlour trick. His dad is some kind of genius with a website and everything. He’s a real asshole, but he’s absolutely fucking brilliant.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes and erased an askew shade. “Whatever, Ray. How would you know? It’s not like he’s been here long enough for you to judge that.” Ray clicked his teeth and sighed. “Yeah, whatever. Want a smoke after class?” Charline thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “What? Why not? It’s the last class, Charlie, not like it’s going to kill you.” Charlie frowned at that, willing the tightness that was beginning in her chest away. “Yeah it will. Maybe not now, but later it’ll catch up and dick me over.”

 

Ramus shrugged and checked his watch. It was almost time to leave. He drew a cigarette from a carton of them and stuck it between his lips. “What are you doing?” His lips turned up around the fag. “Killing myself. And contemplating on whether or not I should piss you off by blowing smoke in your face.”

 

“Don’t be an arse, Ray, I’m not in the mood.”

 

“You never are, Charlie,” he conceded as he fished in his trouser pockets for his lighter. “I’ve decided I’m going to do it. Just to see if you can catch me, just to see if you really are that good.” She was, she’d told him so in an effort to make him go away, and he stayed. Not because he didn’t believe her, but because she’d done something good for him without him having to blackmail it out of her. He believed her, all right. He just liked pushing buttons. “I am that good,” she reiterated.

 

“Yeah, and Imma take your word for it,” he joked, still looking for his lighter. “Your buttons are fun to push and where the shit is my lighter?!” Ray upturned his bag onto the desk to the chagrin of the other students. “I know I left the damn thing in here somewhere...for fuck’s sake!”

 

“Hey, shut it, arsehole!” someone in front of them hissed. He looked at them dead in the eye. “Fuck off, asshole, or I’ll tell your mum you did your step dad the other night. See? Not a trick. Jesus, where’s my lighter?” Outraged and scandalized, the student turned around again. “I hope you dropped it in the toilet or something equally horrible,” Charline muttered as she counted down the seconds till they could leave. “I hope you trip and fall down the stairs while you chase me,” Ray shot back, still searching for his lighter. Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three- “Found it!” -two...one.

 

Ramus lit his cigarette and blew the smoke in her face before running for the door. “Catch me if you can!” he shouted over his shoulder as the professor glared at him for smoking in class. Charline willed away her anxiety and waved the smoke from her face before tearing off after him. The little bugger was halfway down the courtyard when she spotted him finally. She crouched down like her Baba had taught her when she was just five. “You remember the way the tigers run, right?” he’d asked her. “How they crouch down and then leap before running? That’s how you should run. You’ll go faster!”

 

She sprang with a burst of speed and tore after her friend. He was thin and fast, but he was trying to smoke and run at the same time and was being chased by the daughter of a tiger. She would have caught him easily if he didn’t run for safety under the small hole beneath the belly of a huge copper snake that was part of an art project in the middle of the courtyard.

 

“There’s spiders under there, I hope you know that Ray,” she reminded none too helpfully before she jogged towards her dorm building. She smiled when she heard him squeal and curse her out behind her, but didn’t stop her trek to the dorms. The boy smoking a cigarette by the back entrance did, however. “Excuse me, but you’re in my way, shreemaan,” she said, being polite. He gave her a once over and stood his ground before telling her things only she and Ramus would know in one breath.

 

“Your parents are gay, though you aren’t adopted. Some sort of illegal -but effective- test tube project. One of your parents is dying from lung cancer, probably the one who’s the closest, so you’re taking it rather roughly. You’ve been clean for six months, however, going on seven here pretty quickly. Let me guess, it’s the one who taught you to run and ‘fight for the lesser’, right? Right, yes. But they haven’t bothered to teach you how to strike properly without giving it away or else you’d have hit me by now. Either that or the other one taught you how to manage anger. Good job, by the way. No, I will not move. No, I will not go fuck myself. And no, I haven’t talked to your friend. Like he no doubt has told you, this isn’t a trick.”

 

Charline raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree by the entrance as the punk blocking her path put out his cigarette. She began rattling off her own deductions, having read and studied Sherlock Holmes’s webpage. However, her deductions were nothing like the detective’s, who said everything he saw. No, Charlie specialized in breaking people down. “Oh, I know who you are. You’re the Holmes boy. Is it Watson-Holmes? Yeah, I thought so. Holmes has always been the more effeminate one. Tell me, how’s your depression? That bad, huh? Yeah, you’re not the only one who can hurt people with the little details. You may have been born into seeing everything, but I was trained to see the smallest details, the ones that do the most damage. You have a brother, the one thing that keeps you going, right? Do your parents know he’s polyamorous at seventeen? You didn’t know? You’re ace as all hell, that much can be told from the way you hold yourself and that reaction. So why are there four different hair colours on your socks. Your dads have black and light blond hair, but these hair colours are light brown, dark blonde, red, and blue. Your dog is white, so these are obviously not his.”

 

“You’re a real bitch, Moran. Yes, I know who you are, too. I guess I should thank you, though; I’ve never been on the receiving end of this vicious gift and it’s quite humbling. Good night!”

 

“You’re wrong, you know,” Charline piped up, causing the boy to stop before he opened the door. “About what?” he asked as he put his hand down and faced her. “My Baba isn’t dying. Not yet. But that’s only because the lung cancer was caught early. He’s in recession right now. We’re waiting to see if the chemo sticks. And I used to cut-” she rolled up her sleeves to show the other her healed scars- “because that was the only way to stop an anxiety attack. I have been clean for six months, yes. My Da taught me that being angry isn’t worth anything. I have to keep a cool and level head if I want to come out on top. And yes, I am a test tube baby. But so are you, aren’t you? You and...I’m assuming his name is Scott?”

 

“William. Why are you telling me this?”

 

“To shut you up. That’s something your father had a hard time with. Not knowing when to shut up. Caused a lot of heartbreak in my house for a long time. But then again, you’re nothing like him, are you? No, you’re just trying to get by. You don’t feel the need to show off. Good luck with that.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the boy asked as he followed her into the dorm building. “I mean genius needs an audience and you don’t have one. Hey, can your cousin do that?”

 

“No, it reminds him too much of bad things. And I don’t need an audience, either. But you’re all about attention, aren’t you? The only reason you let Ramus hang around you is because you like the attention.” Charlie rounded on his once she got to her door. “There, wrong again! I keep him around because he’s a good person, unlike you. As callous and dry-humoured as he is, he knows when to shut up. You called me a bitch, which is quite hypocritical of you, you know. You’re depressed and bitter and angry so you take it out on other people. No wonder William never tells you anything. My name is Charline Moran and I was hoping our relationship would be nothing like our parents’, but that was my one and only mistake, because you are a right bastard! Good night, Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

 

She slammed the door in his face and bit her cheek. She was filled with regret at her words, but she knew she couldn’t take them back. Instead, she looked in her bag for the razors she took with her and held one in it’s little case tightly till her knuckles went white. She could do this, she could beat this. She would beat this! Once the tightness in her chest vanished, she let the razor go and collapsed face first onto her bed. And so it began.

 

# # # # # # # # #

 

“Hey, Hamish!” Anthony said cheerily as his cousin entered their dorm. “I grabbed some takeaway from the noodle place down the street if you want some. It’s on the table.” Hamish nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Thanks, Anthony." Anthony ate his own noodles methodically, careful not to get any on his shirt. His mother’s voice echoed in his head. “Be careful not to make a mess of yourself. You need to look presentable, okay? Like your father.” He frowned and set the container on the table before absconding to the bathroom. Gazing long and hard at himself in the mirror, he touched his nose and lips, ran his fingers through his hair, frowned when he looked at his eyes.

 

He looked too much like his fathers, it hurt. So he moved the things around below the sink till he found the little pencil box of razors and opened it. “Anthony, I need to use the loo, hurry up!” Hamish asked from outside. “Use the one in the hall, I’m busy, Hamish,” he shot back in a moment of selfish anger. His cousin, thankfully, didn’t question it, and did as he was told. He grabbed a razor at random and held it carefully in his hands as he looked at himself again. His nose was hooked and wide like his father’s, so made careful cuts at the side to thin it out, just deep enough to make a difference, but not so deep as to cause permanent change or damage. They’d heal completely in a month or so.

 

He made several more cuts before cleaning himself up and bandaging his new wounds. Hamish was gone when he exited the bathroom, which he was grateful for, so he tucked himself into bed, facing away from the door. At least he wasn’t cutting his wrists anymore, though the taunts and slurs he received in the halls of the dorm building were still a constant. He prayed to a God he was only just beginning to believe in again that the days when he felt dysphoric and when he was cussed at didn’t line up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shreemaan- Hindi for 'mister'.


	3. Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, New Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish and Charline try to make some amends. Ramus goes to work and finds himself the company and lover of a totaled stranger. Anthony finds someone who listens and tries to help, albeit in an uncommon way.

It’d been another week since Charline Moran had opened Hamish’s eyes to the fact that he was becoming his father. He’d sat in front of a mirror for what seemed like ages after that, asking himself why he always brought out the worst in people. It began to call to him again, telling him how easy it would be to just not leave the dorm today. ‘You should just stay in bed’, It whispered to him. ‘What’s the point in getting up today?’

And that’s when he’d heard William's voice in his head. ‘You need to get up. If not for you, then for me. Get up!’ He wound up taking almost half an hour to get up and go to class. He almost never had to take that long. Classes passed by relatively quickly and he skipped lunch in favour of reading for the English class he was dreading. “Hey, you’re Hamish, right?”

The boy looked up and then down again quickly. “Yes. and you’re Ramus Samuel.” Hamish tried to keep the conversation short. Now he wished he was like his father when he was young; an outcast that was left alone. “Cool. Listen, Charlie told me what she said. She doesn’t mean it.” Hamish raised an eyebrow and flipped a page. “Oh? She told you this, too?” Ramus snorted. “Yeah, right. No, but you can see it on her face. She’s upset about something. Probably what she said, since you can’t really get under her skin. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Hamish dogeared his place and set the book down. Ramus skipped breakfast, brushing his hair, and his first class in lieu of smoking and reading. But he was telling the truth. “I said some things to her and she retaliated in defense. She’s got nothing to be sorry for.”

“She seems to thinks so. Just forgive her?”

Hamish half-smiled and leaned back. “Do you know who her parents are? Who mine are?” Ramus grinned. “Of course. Only the greatest feud in history!” The Holmes boy hummed in response. “Then you know our legacy. We can’t be friends. She knows this as well as I do. Said so herself. Forgiving her will do nothing to fix that.”

“You don’t know that…” Ramus began. Hamish laughed aloud at that. “Oh, I know so much more than that. I know she’ll never forgive me, even if I forgive her. I know that she was raised by the two most evil men on the planet, and I know what those men did to my family. I know the aftermath. I know everything. And so does she. We’ve become a self-fulfilling prophecy that will last till the last Moran and Watson-Holmes winks out of existence. It’s just that simple.”

Ramus rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Whatever, mate. She’s just sorry and I think you both should get your heads out your arses and just apologise.” He gave Hamish one last look before walking away. “And I’m the sociopath, sure.”

What Ramus said made sense, though. They were both being pricks to each other, but maybe they could be a little friendlier of pricks to one another. “It’s worth a shot, right?” He asked himself as he picked his book back up. It disagreed. ‘Pointless. Go back to the room and stay there, Hamish…’ He needed a cigarette.

# # # # # # # # #

“I’m not sorry for what i said. He started it, I’ve ended it, and that’s that. Why do you insist on stirring up trouble?” Ramus chuckled and kicked his feet onto the desk. “I’m the kid who’d set ants on fire with a magnifying glass to see what would happen. Just say you’re sorry.” Charlie used her finger to shade one area of her drawing. “Why, what did you do?”

“Who said I did anything?” Ray asked petulantly. Charline said nothing, but her eyes flickered to him briefly before returning to her drawing. “I told him you were sorry for what you said.” She smiled and erased a too-round corner of the drawing. “Why? What are you planning, Ray?” He chuckled again. “Nothing, Charlie. But you look like shit all the time. I figured you would feel better if you just apologised to each other.”

Before she could retort something witty, the movement of messy black curls caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Her chest tightened and she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. It eased the pain and calmed her down enough to focus on her drawing once more. “What’s really eating you up, then, Moran?” Ray asked quietly, unobtrusively. She looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Why do you care?”

He smiled halfway. “I’m not a total dick. Being a sociopath means I don’t feel like normal people do, not that I don’t feel at all. I care, is what I’m pathetically trying to say. What’s wrong, Charlie?” She opened a new page of her notebook and began drawing something else. “My anxiety is bad. I haven’t hurt myself, before you ask. But it’s getting out of hand and it’s bad enough to hurt sometimes.” Ray nodded and sat back. “Yeah, okay. Have you gotten help?”

Charline snorted and shook her head. “No. Jesus, Ray, what would I say, huh? ‘My parents are serial killers and I’m afraid to disappoint them if I do good or do bad!’ I’d get locked up, not helped. No, I’ll be fine myself. I just need to relax, is all.”

“Okay. Then do you want ice cream after class?” Charlie nodded and ripped the drawing out of her notebook. “Can I borrow your lighter?” Ramus nodded and fished around for it in his pocket as the class was dismissed. “No, actually, because I don’t have it on me. The Watson kid would have one, though. Let’s go ask him!”

Fuck.

“Hey, Hamish!” The raven-curled boy turned around and rolled his eyes. “You again. Yeah?” Ray grinned charmingly and patted his pockets. “I don’t have a light, mind I borrow yours?” Hamish visibly relaxed, though was still wary of Moran. “Sure. So long as I can have a smoke of yours.” Ramus handed him the cigarette in trade for the lighter. “Here you are,” he mumbled around the paper stick as he lit Hamish’s cigarette. “Charline? Did you need this?”

She walked over to the trash bin and held out the paper she ripped and folded over the bin. “Light this, please?” She asked quietly. Ray stood to block what they were doing and Hamish followed, smiling weakly around his cigarette at Charlie. She held the paper till it almost burned her fingers before blowing it out and crumbling the remnants into the bin. “Thanks. Sorry for being a prick, by the way. It...It was a defense mechanism.”

“It’s all fine. I started it.”

“Hell yeah, you did,” she mumbled, which earned her a glare from Ramus. “Sorry again. Looks like we both have a mouth to control.”

Hamish smiled and nodded once before reaching a hand out. “Hamish Watson-Holmes.”

“Charline Moran. But Charlie is fine.”

“And I’m Ramus. Here’s your lighter if we’re not burning more shit. I’m going to work. Nice meeting you again, Hamish. See you later, Moran!”

# # # # # # # # #

Anthony needed a drink and then some. He hated his reflection more and more each day and tiny cuts weren’t helping. He was too much of a coward in his mind to do much more than that, however. “Hey, Anthony,” Hamish had greeted when he walked in after English. “Hi. Ramen’s on the table, help yourself, I’m going out.” The shittiest taxi ride and a block of walking later, he stood in front of a club pulsating bass through the pavement. “Name?” The bouncer at the front asked him. “Holmes. I should have a VIP room, as well.” The giant of a security guard checked his list, nodded once, and let him through the doors into the cool and loud club.

He made a beeline for the back of the club to the stairs that led up to the VIP suites. The music was quieter, clearer, and the room itself allowed Anthony privacy from anyone who would recognise him. He shed his coat and flung it over the back of the couch before collapsing into one of the deep and plush lounge chairs. He pressed a button on the table that would buzz someone downstairs that he needed a drink here. He inhaled deeply and held it till he couldn’t before breathing out his nose. Getting plastered would definitely help him. Definitely. Probably. Maybe. Or not. But it would make him feel better.

Someone knocked on the door before entering. Ramus Samuel. Anthony knew him, but they’d never talked. He knew Ramus had a reputation for candid and dry remarks and brutal honesty, so to learn he had a job as a bartender and/or waiter at this particular club was both surprising and peculiar to Anthony. “Evening. How can I help you?” The American greeted with a fake smile.

“Don’t patronise me, please. I’m having a rough day as is,” the other asked, leaning further back in his seat. “Okay. You look like shit. Do you need something purely alcoholic or maybe some company?”

“Both would be bloody fantastic right now, if you’d be so kind.”

“Yeah, sure. I know you, right?” Samuel asked at the door. “Probably. We go to the same university and have few degrees of separation. That drink, please?” Ramus nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

The boy returned shortly with a tall glass of something that looked like it would do the job and taste delicious at the same time. He handed the drink to Anthony before taking a seat next to him. “You said you wanted company?” Ray asked once his employer had sipped his drink. “Please,” he assured. “Do you want to talk about something?”

“Only if you’re okay with listening.”

“I don’t see why not. Please, go on.”

Anthony told him vague details, about how his parents had split, leaving him and his sister in ruins and the custody of their ‘aunt’. He told this perfect stranger about how he hated the way he looked, how he looked so much like them both that it hurt to look at himself sometimes. He carried their legacy. “I’d just like to be me, you know? I don’t want to be one or the other or both. Just...just me. I don’t want to be their eyes, their nose, their temper, their kindness. It’s me, it’s my eyes, my kindness. I...I’d like someone to see me as myself, not the product of two other people.”

“You look like yourself to me,” Ramus said after a moment. “Yeah, right,” Anthony scoffed as he finished his drink, feeling contently inebriated and inhibition-less. “You’ve never met them.”

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you, Samuel!” Anthony retorted. “You are. You have become your own self-fulfilling prophecy. You don’t want to be like them, but you seem to do everything they do.” Ramus stood up and gestured fiercely at  the ginger. “Do something neither of them would ever do. Something that would outrage them, something to set yourself apart from them! Something...something outlandish and almost whimsical…”

“Something like this?” Anthony said as he stood up rather clumsily and pulled Ramus to him in a kiss. “Yeah, something like that, I guess,” the other agreed once Anthony pulled away. “We should go someplace else. I don’t think the cleaning staff would much appreciate it if we stayed in here.”

“We could go to my place since you share a dorm.” Anthony set his empty glass down and waved towards the door. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise they're not all buddy buddy right in the beginning. They have a lot of growing to do, still, and obstacles to overcome. This became a hell of a lot more slashy than I initially wanted between Anthony and Ray. Sorry 'bout that.


End file.
